


Master of the Flesh, Master of the Mind

by wabbajack



Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Kink Meme, M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Seduction, Sexual Content, Shapeshifting, Teasing, Topping from the Bottom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-21
Updated: 2013-01-21
Packaged: 2017-11-26 07:44:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/648202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wabbajack/pseuds/wabbajack
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It begins, as most seductions do, with teasing, and surely Sanguine should have known better. Written for the Elder Scrolls kink meme.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Master of the Flesh, Master of the Mind

It begins, as most seductions do, with teasing, and surely Sanguine should have known better. Jyggalag was dangerous, and Sheogorath still is, and he has made an art form out of besting his brethren. But it begins as seductions do, with sly words and flickering just out of reach, like the white flash of a deer's tail as it flees, or the ghost of breath over skin, never-touching, and at last Sanguine can think only that he will make this smug little imp squeal beneath him. He gives chase to the mad god; it is like trying to capture smoke in his hands. Sheogorath is as a song whose words one can never quite remember, laughing with a soft, excruciating tickle at the sensitive edges of a mind shivering with frustration as it tries. Sanguine pursues him down a thousand paths between the stars, between the notes of his own song, along the delicate edge of a butterfly's wing. He catches him after a hundred years of pursuit. He catches him in an instant.

It is like this, the first time that Sanguine has his way with the mad Prince: the pleasure of the flesh touches a pleasure that twists its roots through the most intimate crevices of the _mind,_ a rush of color in the blood, like the sweet taste of some innocent-looking herb before making love. Despite the best efforts of the Prince of Debauchery- more than pleasure enough to burst a mortal heart a thousand times over- Sheogorath only smiles a smile that reveals nothing, even as he comes. Growling Sanguine considers for a moment in his fevered thoughts that he should keep going, see how the laughing bastard likes being made to do that again, _immediately,_ but in the end he can taste _starlight_ and cannot hold himself back long enough to try. When his limbs are useless in the aftermath (his! _his!_ and whoever heard of such a thing?) Sheogorath smiles more broadly, and kisses him between the eyes, and escapes.

It is like this, the second time that Sanguine has his way with the mad Prince: seconds before he knows that he will taste sweet starlight again Sheogorath becomes a sudden storm of violence and leaves him bloody and unfulfilled. The violence ends just as suddenly, and Sheogorath is merry as he makes good his escape. 

It is like this, the third time that Sanguine has his way with the mad Prince: Sheogorath leaves him unfulfilled again at the worst moment but also unbloodied this time, and Sanguine grumbles and must give in and relieve himself before he can even consider attempting pursuit. The rush isn't quite as intense; it just isn't the same.

It is like this, all the following times that Sanguine meets and has his way with the mad Prince: he never knows, watching that infuriating smile, how it will end...but there is a thrill, too, in not knowing. He is the Prince of Debauchery, and it has been such a long time since any pleasure in his sphere was spontaneous or surprising or new to him, or any lover dared such mischief. Perhaps he had not realized how long until now, as it becomes a game to see if he can placate the capricious spirit beneath him, convince Sheogorath and his insufferable smile to stay and to please him like that first time again. Sometimes that's what happens. Sometimes it isn't. He never can be quite certain which pleasures earn him which outcome, so he must try them all as unpredictably as he can.

Sheogorath is fond of changing shape beneath him, and Sanguine chases him across a thousand forms each more improbable than the last, adapting his own body to fit him again, find where the sweet sensitive nerves have been hidden now, relentless, his infinite mind a mantra of _oh no you don't you will feel this pleasure and you won't get away from it or me_ and this is almost more intoxicating than all the rest of it together. It is like this this time as he has his way with the mad Prince, until Sheogorath's latest improbable form makes a happy musical sound and finds release, skin flushed in a multitude of vibrant colors. Sanguine doesn't slow, for he is close again and ready to try his luck-

-but the mad god turns to glittering dust in his embrace, and laughs, and blows away on the wind with one last fleeting sensation like the sweetest kiss somewhere obscene. Sanguine groans, and curses, but finds that it is still a game: approaching the edge of release only to step back, and again, and again, knowing that it will make that one time with no step back all the sweeter. Like that first time. Always chasing that first time.

Sanguine is not a fool. He knows that he has long since begun to think like an addict, and that addiction is the mad god's personal playground. Jyggalag was dangerous and Sheogorath still is, and one day Sanguine will find that it is too late to save himself from the endgame of whatever insane scheme brought all this on in the first place. But oh, oh, oh. He cannot bring himself to care.

Sheogorath is already inside each of us, and the battle is already lost.


End file.
